


Art Never Comes From Happiness

by enchanted_book



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Sadstuck, TW: implied suicide, except it's like vaguely implied, implied flushed feelings for cronus, pale porrim/kankri, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchanted_book/pseuds/enchanted_book
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was truly gorgeous, and you all knew it. It was nice painting her for a while, but after some time you could paint her easily from memory. Absentmindedly stroking your brush against the white canvas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art Never Comes From Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> pretty sure this was an idea between hope and i.  
> #addiction to cronkri

Your name is Kankri Vantas, and you are an artist.  
At least, that's what you were told each day. Maybe you painted better than the other trolls, but you didn't particularly think so. But no artist ever has. They all found flaws in their work that wasn't really ever there.  
In all honesty, Mituna was an avid illustrator before his pan damage. Since then, his drawings haven't really looked the same. More scratchy.  
So, you supposed it was natural for you to be promoted as the artist of the group. Though it still felt wrong.  
Your paintings were so ugly to you, as if the paint was too thick on the canvas.  
Yet, you enjoyed painting Porrim the most. Ever since you had made your pals status official, she was all you ever painted. It didn't feel too thick, but still thick... But much better. Much lighter.  
She was truly gorgeous, and you all knew it. It was nice painting her for a while, but after some time you could paint her easily from memory. Absentmindedly stroking your brush against the white canvas.  
This time, you were painting her again. Gazing upon her, as you zoned out. Your brush moving across the canvas in light strokes. You shoved the paintbrush into your mouth, as you pushed up your fringe with the back of your hand, smearing more paint over your face.  
Porrim locked eyes with yours. Hers were full of fire, and yours were tired. Well, you assumed so. You both held the same dull, blank eyes. Oh, what being dead did to you.  
Your heart hiccuped as you thought back to the days when you were alive. You hadn't left back anything that proved you were alive. You held an average life, and an average death. It drove you absolutely insane to know that you were never anything, anyone, important. To think, you never were loved in life.  
It wasn't until death when you held pale feelings for Porrim. You realized what you had missed quickly, giving up your celibacy. After all, if Heaven wasn't for real... What was the point?  
There was none.  
You did a lot of thinking like that lately, and Porrim was afraid you were spiraling into a depression. Which you probably were.  
But you felt happy at times.  
So it could feel impossible sometimes.  
Your hand resumed to the canvas, brushing more strokes while you gazed upon her. Finally, your hand stopped and she jumped up.  
Porrim peeked at the canvas and smirked. Something you haven't seen in a while. It seemed she was only full of worried looks nowadays.  
But no, this was most definitely a smirk.  
You looked down to the canvas and immediately wanted to put your fist through the canvas. This has never happened before, painting him... Yet, there he was, ever so clearly. So... Alive. And gorgeous. His violet eyes sparkling back at you, a smile plastered on his face. You could feel your chest clench.  
"You liiiiike him!" Porrim said in a singsongy voice. She poked at your stomach, her tinkling laugh coming out to bite at your pride.  
"I do not... You're delusional, it's just a painting. A painting holds no meaning, and besides... He's just a friend. I have no romantic attraction to him." You choked out the last few words, it felt like a lie was seeping from your throat. But it was the truth. Maybe...  
She laughed at you again, "Whatever you say, Kanny. I'll leave you alone with your boytoy." 

Hours after she had left, you were still staring at that wretched painting. Why did it make you cry? Why did it make your chest clench? Why did it make you oddly happy? Why did you even miss him?  
You were an idiot. An idiot in love?  
No, of course not! He's much too problematic.  
So then why did you love this painting?  
Did you just think that you love it?... Yeah, you love it. But not him.  
You just didn't layer the paint on thick. That was it. 

 

You finally hung the canvas up on your wall and took a few steps back to admire your work, and you couldn't help but feel the smile curl up on your lips.  
God, you couldn't help but remember those restless nights you spent in life, trying to unlock the secret puzzle of perfection. All along it was in front of you.  
Wait, no. He's not perfect, he never will be. He was a problematic idiot. He was terrible, and mean.  
You couldn't understand what was going on. You couldn't hear anything but the ringing in your ears. You couldn't take this.  
The mere sight of him, in life, made your heart ache and eyes water. What had you done?  
Why had you been leader? This was all your fault. It was your fault that everyone's smiles dissipated.  
All this self hatred finally reigned supreme. Painting used to make you happy, why didn't it now?  
What happened anyways... You didn't want to think. You wanted the noxious air to lull you to sleep.  
Yeah, that's it... Just lean against the wall, just like that. Let the world fade out.  
Just let the world fade out...


End file.
